Her meeting with the kid detectiv
by Marcelle Hvidsteen
Summary: What would you do if you where caught in a country, where you didn't speak the language, and where the first one on a murder scene? R


A part of her wanted to throw up. She had always been interested in cop shows, but suddenly being at a crime scene all she wanted was to throw up.

The body was on the floor, broken glass all around her. She looked up at the broken window, everything to not look at the man lying on the floor. She could hear a woman scream beside her, and shout something she couldn't quite understand.

Why, oh why did she have to be on a crime scene in Japan? She swore under her breath, then turned and threw up.

She went to the wall and sat down. Her entire body was shaking. She saw people running around talking and screaming in Japanese and she swore under her breath again.

Why did she have to go to Japan? Why hadn't she taken a course in Japanese? Why did she insist on travelling over here alone? Why did she want to come over two weeks before school started? Why did she want to go to the library, not even speaking the language? Why did she have to choose the only room with a body inside?

She laid her head in her hands and started to cry. Cramp like shocks made her entire body shake. On a deep level, where she was not loosing control over her body, she was wondering why no one had stopped to talk to her.

Maybe no one had seen her. Maybe she could just sneak of and no one would be the wiser. She couldn't. She might have seen something that could be of significant and she could not even be aware of it.

All the hours of watching CSI had told her that. So for now she could just sit there, a nineteen-year-old Norwegian girl, with long blond hair, big blue eyes, and a shivering body. Waiting for something to happen.

-

Someone pointed at her and a big man, a police officer, came closer and started talking to her. She just shook her head.

"I don't speak Japanese."

She stood up, her arms folded over her lover chest. She wanted to throw up again. The man turned and talked to a man and a woman standing a little behind him.

"Do you talk English?"

He was talking like he had been forced to take it in school, but hadn't bothered using it after that. She nodded.

"First on scene?" He talked English like she talked French. Using as few words as possible and hoping to be understood. She reminded herself to talk slowly and articulate.

"Yes, I…" "Name?" "Benedikte Johansson, two s-es. 19, Norwegian." She didn't know why she said all those things, but he noted it down. The big man and woman had gone.

"I went into this room and the body was lying there covered in white foam." "Foam?" What else could she call it? The white foam was now gone, and the crime scene, the body was taken away, was just covered in a sticky substance.

"Yes you know, looks like a cloud but is sticky?" Benedikte became desperate, and started waving her arms desperately trying to figure out how she could describe foam. Why, oh why did she have to be the first one on a crime scene in Japan?

-

"What kind of foam?" They looked down, and saw a little boy looking up at them. The police officer called him Conan, and then said something else she didn't understand. "What kind of foam?" "You know when you mix baking powder and vinegar to make rockets? That kind."

He looked to fully comprehend what she was saying, and Benedikte sighed of relief. Finally someone looked to understand her, and she didn't care that he was only six-seven years old.

Conan continued talking, as the police officer tried hard to understand what they where talking about. "Why did you go into this room, when it was closed?" "Was it? I didn't know. There wasn't a sign on the door or anything."

He looked like he was processing that information quite hard. Like something she said didn't fit. "Did you hear anything?"

Benedikte tried to remember. Yes, as she opened the door she had heard something. "As I came in, before I saw the body and started to scream I heard a faint pop like sound. Like when you shake your fizzy drink and then open it."

Then he was gone, and she was stuck with the police officer again. "Can you please repeat everything you just told him, slowly?" She sighed again, and started from the top.

-

The cop had finally gone away. Benedikte had started being annoyed, having to repeat herself so many times. She looked across the room at the boy.

He was standing, talking to a boy almost ten years older. There was something not right with the picture.

She studied them, trying to find out why she was disturbed by the image. There was nothing wrong with Conan. He had this serious expression on his face she had seen so many time on her cousins when discussing comic books and games.

He had this look of understanding and awareness that was odd, but that was not why she reacted. No it was the expression on the other boys face. Equality. A strange, scary, form of equality and respect was shining in his eyes. It was scary because it was usually not shard between two of that kind.

The boys looked at her, and she looked at the plant she was sitting next to before they could see she was looking at them. A faint blush could be detected on her cheeks, but only for a good detective.

-

She studied the plastic plant with over enthusiasm, not having anything else to do, and saw something shine in the bottom.

She reached out to grab it, but cried as something pricked her. She must have cried since the two boys was suddenly standing next to her. "What happened?"

She was bleeding, and put her finger in her mouth, but with her other hand she pointed to the bottom of the plant.

The oldest boy reached down and picked up a cork with a tick attached to it. The two boys looked at each other and nodded smilingly, like something finally made sense.

Then they disappeared again. Again Benedikte got the feeling like something was not quite right with the two of them.

-

The oldest boy, and a man she had only seen talking to the biggest police officer made everyone come closer. Even if she didn't understand what they said, she come closer simply because everyone else did.

She paid close attention as the boy placed a doll at the middle of the room. Suddenly the pop and fizzing sound could be heard above and she looked up just enough to se something be shoot at the sealing where some police officers where actually holding up a big peace of glass.

It shattered, and Benedikte got a flashback from the movie _The Hand That Rocks The Cradle_. Then a new pop and fizzing sound, and something was thrown at the doll.

It started to foam and but soon disappeared. The man, sitting on a chair, looking as he was sleeping said something. Everyone was in awe. She was angry because she didn't understand.

She felt dizzy and tried to sit down. But suddenly the sitting man pointed at her, and everyone gasped. Her head started pounding.

"What?" Suddenly the big man grabbed her and took on her hand coughs. "What? What are you doing?" She looked scared as they talked in Japanese. "Can someone explain what is happening?" Her head hurt so much.

"You are under arrest for murder Johansson." She couldn't breath. All she could think of was an old movie about someone being wrongfully arrested in Thailand and not set free.

"I didn't do anything." She started pulling, but it was futile. She couldn't breathe and fell to her knees. There must have been a mistake.

She shouldn't have come here. She shouldn't have left Norway. She eyes widened as she looked for the kid. She found him, behind the man in the chair talking to a woman.

She opened her mouth to talk to him but couldn't. No sound escaped her. Everything went black as she far away heard a woman scream something in Japanese.

-

When she opened her eyes the two boys where standing over her. "Are you okay?" She moved every limbs, and looked down as her hurt arm. Someone had given her a needle.

She sat up. "We're glad you are fine. Actually you being sick pressured the murderer even more. We actually thought they would take you away before she confessed."

Benedikte was socked. They had planed it. They had let them think, no not only let them, pointed her out as the murderer. And now they where sitting there, ice cold, just looking at here. After what she went threw. What they put her threw.

She hit them. Conan fell backwards. The way he had talked to her. The way he had figured things out. The way he had used her. She had forgotten, for a moment, he was only a kid.

"I'm sorry." The big boy helped Conan up. "You used me." She started to sweat. She was so tired. "You have to relax. The drug you took was quite powerful." "You don't say."

She leaned forward so she could breath easily. The bigger boy rose, said something, and left. "Heijis going to get you a ride." He smiled a smile she had only seen in teenage boys. It was wrong, in some way, in his face.

-

"So are you going to tell me how you figured it out?"

A part of her wanted to know. If for nothing else, only to know why she had gone through hell.

The boy leaned on the back of his feet.

"The victim, Fumio, and the murderer, Bunko, were partners. They worked on different projects, on of them the foam that killed him. The victim was involved with his partners sister, and when Fumio almost got caught for swindle he let Bunkos sister take the rap. She killed herself in jail."

"Sow what has that to do with me?" He gave her a picture. The likeness was stunning. "She wanted revenge, not only for being swindled, but for her sister too." "Hell has no fury as a woman scorned." He nodded, like he knew. He wasn't sepose to know. He was a kid.

"How did you find this out?" He smiled. "It was all there, if you only looked." She looked at him. Again she almost got scared of him.

"Who are you?" He rose, still with the teenage smile in his face. "My name is Edogawa Conan. I'm a detective."


End file.
